


Only Trust Your Heart

by dustandroses



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: oz_magi, Established Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, Light Bondage, M/M, Post-Canon, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:32:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan and Miguel are both hanging on by the tips of their fingers when they run into each other at Lardner.  Neither has much reason to keep going, but if they stick together, maybe they can find a way to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Trust Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tokixedge](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tokixedge).



> **Beta:** BlackChaps, my hero and shit  
>  **Written for:** Tokixedge for Oz Magi 2011, originally posted on January 8, 2012.
> 
> **My prompts:**  
>  **Pairing:** Miguel Alvarez/Ryan O'Reily  
>  **Keyword/Prompt Phrase:** A realistic portrayal on a relationship.  
>  **Canon/AU/Either:** AU  
>  **Special Requests:** Just don't kill 'em.  
>  **Story/Art/Either:** Story.

 

“I did not leave the top off the fucking toothpaste!”

Ryan wasn’t about to let this one go. It had been a long, shitty day, with one goddamned stupid thing after another and no end in sight. Ryan had come back to their pod to wash his face, leaning his hands on the sink and bam! Toothpaste squirted all over the motherfucking place. What a godawful mess. It’s not that, under normal circumstances, leaving the cap off the toothpaste tube was the end of the world or anything, but Miguel did it all the time, and he knew how much Ryan hated it. Now he couldn’t even admit the truth, and it was really pissing Ryan off.

Ryan got up in his face, poking his finger into Miguel’s chest. “Well then who the fuck did?”

Miguel shoved him away, angrily. “¡Chingada madre! How the hell would I know? All I know is, it wasn’t me!”

Ryan stumbled backwards, catching himself on the edge of the bunk. “Right.” Ryan laughed sarcastically. “So you’re saying, what? One of the hacks took the cap off, just to cause trouble?”

“Who the hell knows, man?” Miguel paced from one end of their pod to the other, tension radiating off him almost visibly, his arms flying as he shouted. “Maybe it was Murphy, or McManus. Maybe it was fucking Querns. But it wasn’t me!”

Ryan took a deep breath to calm himself, then asked casually, or as casually as he could get, as angry as he was. “Querns?” He was very proud of how composed he sounded, considering the turbulent emotions raging inside him.

“Yeah. That’s right.” Miguel acted like he knew he’d backed himself into a corner on this one, but he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his head belligerently. “Querns.”

“The warden of the entire goddamn prison came to Em City and took the top off the fucking toothpaste, because he knew it would piss me off.”

“Yeah. It could happen.”

“You are so full of bullshit, Alvarez. You know how much I hate it...”

“Wait.” Miguel raised one hand, his brow furrowed with thought. “Wait, wait, wait.” He waved a finger in Ryan’s direction. “You didn’t work breakfast this morning, did you?”

Miguel had a look in his eyes that Ryan didn’t quite understand or trust, so Ryan answered him cautiously, trying to figure out his angle. “You know I don’t work breakfast on Mondays. I work lunch and dinner.”

“You were still asleep when I left for breakfast, and I went straight to my shift at the infirmary after that.”

“So?”

“So unless you didn’t brush your teeth today,” Miguel turned the tables and poked Ryan in the chest, “you’re the one who left the lid off the fucking toothpaste! It was you!”

“No it wasn’t,” Ryan denied vehemently.

“Yes it was! Think about it, man. Think about it.”

“I didn’t…” Ryan floundered, tripping over his words. “I don’t - I never do that.” But the proof was right there in front of him. “Shit.”

“It was you.”

“Maybe.” It was Ryan’s turn to feel like a belligerent child.

“Fuck you, man.”

“I still say it was Querns.” He smiled crookedly at Miguel, trying to distract Miguel from a situation that had suddenly gotten out of Ryan’s control.

“¡Cabrón!”

Ryan hated it when Miguel resorted to Spanish words he refused to translate.

“I just wasted twenty minutes of my life arguing with you, and I’ll never get that time back, man. Wasted. You suck, O’Reily. You really fucking suck.”

He turned away, slamming the door to their pod open.

“I’m going to the library.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Just leave me the fuck alone for a while.”

Shit. Ryan hated this relationship crap. He’d never been any good at it. He’d sort of thought it might be easier now he was with another guy, but it seemed that fucking a guy was just as fraught with peril as fucking a woman was. He was always saying the wrong thing, and this was a perfect example. He’d been full of anger over a dozen different things, none of which were Miguel’s fault, and when he’d seen that toothpaste spurt all over the fucking sink he just saw red.

Being back in Oz should have made things easier, and in some ways it had. He’d really missed the freedoms afforded him in Em City; just being able to wear his own clothing again made a huge difference in his attitude. But the memories came crowding back at the oddest times, tripping him up and making him ache with the pain of his losses. Em City reminded him of Cyril so strongly that if it weren’t for Miguel, he might even consider transferring to another unit.

He’d had to quit his job in the infirmary; he could see Gloria everywhere, and his father. He’d only begun to get to know his father again before he lost him. Not even out of the infirmary at Lardner two weeks and Seamus pissed off some homeboy and got his throat slit. He actually couldn’t blame the homeboy for being pissed; calling the guy a fucking nigger might as well have been a form of suicide. He took care of the guy, anyway. It was the principle of the matter, he couldn’t let that go.

And Gloria. Gloria was gone. She asked to transfer to Lardner, but they refused her request. They didn’t need her there. She ended up in some minimum security facility taking care of ex-lawyers with tennis elbow and politicians with bunions and hemorrhoids. For a while she’d written, and even come to visit a few times, but three months into Ryan’s time at Lardner she’d accepted a position at a hospital in California, about as far away from Ryan as she could get without leaving the fucking country.

He got the hint. She said she’d stay in touch, but he knew the score. When she came to say goodbye, he knew he’d never see her again. And he was right. For a while, he just let go of everything. Stopped eating, stopped caring, got into fights he knew he couldn’t win, pissed off as many people as he could, hoping someone would do what he didn’t have the guts to do for himself: put him out of his own misery.

Then Alvarez showed up in the infirmary, gut stuck, dosed to the gills on Destiny, and reeling from the shock of the death of Torquemada. The faggot had crossed swords with the wrong dago, and the Italians had put him under and took back the drug trade, leaving Alvarez odd man out. No need for a second in command without a leader to follow. He was lost and hopeless and Ryan had understood his pain far too clearly.

Alvarez needed to get away from the unit he’d been in and all the crap he’d gotten into there, and Ryan still had a bit of pull in him. He managed to get Alvarez transferred to his unit, and went to work on him, cleaning him up, giving him some direction, something to look forward to. They were good for each other. Alvarez needed to get off the drugs and get his shit together, and Ryan needed someone to take care of. He hadn’t realized that was what he was doing at first, but once he figured it out, it made sense.

It was what Ryan knew. He took care of people, it was in his nature. He wondered if maybe that was why he’d been so attracted to Gloria. She understood that need. She’d dedicated her life to it. She’d done it for him when he had cancer; the only person who’d ever taken care of him the way he took care of others. He’d always been the one who protected Cyril from their dad. He’d even done his best to protect Tessie from the bastard, drawing Seamus’ anger onto himself to keep her safe. When she’d been sick, dying of cancer, Seamus sure as hell wasn’t the one who held her when she was puking her guts out after the chemo.

Then Cyril got brain damaged, and Ryan knew he was the only one who could take care of him. And he had done the best he knew how. At least until he’d ended up in Oz. When Cyril got caught, after he killed Gloria’s husband, it had almost been a relief for Ryan, because as hard as it was going to be for Cyril in prison, at least Ryan had him close, and could take care of him again. He’d fucked up with Cyril, fucked up badly. But he’d tried. He’d done his best. And when Alvarez had shown up in the infirmary, spaced out and desperate, Ryan knew what he had to do.

It had worked, too. For both of them. He’d never expected to go from friends to lovers. That had never entered his mind. But Miguel – he had a different perspective on shit like that after spending so much time with Torquemada and his queens. The first time he shoved Ryan up against a storeroom door and sucked Ryan’s cock down his throat, Ryan realized that maybe it was time he loosened up a bit, and learned to let go of some of the prejudices he’d picked up from his father.

It had taken him a while to get into the swing of things, but Miguel was persistent, and once he did, he realized fucking guys was just as hot as fucking women, and there wasn’t much he liked better than fucking Miguel. The problem was, no matter how much had changed in the last six months or so, he was still the same old Ryan O’Reily, and he had a bad habit of fucking up his relationships, just like he was doing with Miguel right now.

Ryan had fucked up yet again, and he needed to fix this, but he’d learned that sometimes Miguel needed his space. So he’d give him some time to cool down before he apologized. Maybe he should go to the gym, take out his aggressions on the dumbbells, and figure out a way to make it up to Miguel.

When Ryan got to the gym, Miguel was there, punching the hell out of the heavy bag. Ryan stood there watching him, admiring the way Miguel’s muscles shifted and bunched under his skin, his compact form sleek and sensual, even as he pummeled the bag ruthlessly. Finally, Miguel slowed, his blows tapering down to a slower more regular pace: a steady left, left, right - right, right, left repeated over and over. He acknowledged Ryan’s presence with a glance.

Ryan cleared his throat. “I thought you were going to the library.” He hated how awkward and uncomfortable he felt, but he kept going, hoping he could resolve this quickly, but not really expecting Miguel to be an easy sell.

“I was, but it was full of assholes,” left, left, right, “and I wasn’t in the mood for assholes.”

Ouch. “Yeah, okay. I got the point.” Ryan shrugged. “I fucked up, all right? My fault. All my fault.”

Miguel didn’t give an inch. “You’re right. Your fault.” Left, left right. Right, right, left.

“So?”

Left, left, right. “So… what?”

Damn. He was definitely making Ryan work for this one. “Do you forgive me?” He cringed at the plaintive sound of his voice. Nothing like a little groveling in the afternoon.

“I’m thinking about it.” Right, right, left.

Shit. He watched Miguel for a bit, the heavy bag swinging with the strength of his punches. “Want me to hold your bag?” Jesus. Could he be any more of a wimp? He sounded like a teenager. Can I carry your books for you?

The steady pounding stopped for a moment, and Miguel regarded Ryan solemnly. “Yeah, alright.” The punching started up again, this time a simpler left, right, left, right that had its own more subdued rhythm.

“Okay.” He grabbed the bag, stopping the wild swinging that had kept Miguel dancing around to try and keep his punches steady. It made Ryan feel better to think he was helping, if only a small bit. After a few minutes he said, “So, you forgive me?”

Miguel frowned. Right, left, right, left. “I said I’d think about it.”  
Ryan grinned at him. “I know. But you’re talking to me. If you were still pissed off, you would be punching me, instead of the bag.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Just hold the bag still, alright?”

“Yeah, alright. I can handle that.”

Miguel shook his head, sighing, sounding for a moment like a much put upon parent trying his best to deal with an unruly child. “Yeah, you do that, O’Reily.”

 

* * *

 

Miguel dropped down onto his bunk and stretched out, wondering if he had time for a nap before dinner. He hadn’t done much of anything all day, he had no idea why he was tired, but rainy days always made him feel like that. He’d spent a good half hour of his shift staring out the infirmary window at the gloomy, overcast sky. A perfect day to relax and stay home, if he wasn’t stuck here in Oz, that is.

Ryan walked in, sat down on the chair by the desk and kicked Miguel’s feet, which were hanging off the end of the bunk.

“Fuck off, man. I’m taking a nap.”

“What did you do to Mendez? He’s been watching me all afternoon, and I saw you talking to him earlier. You said something to him, right?”

Miguel shrugged. “He wanted to do some business. I turned him down.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He leaned up on one elbow, so he could see Ryan more easily. “He’s bringing in some tits, wants to try and deal against the Italians. I told him he was crazy. We don’t mess with heroin, we only deal with pills.”

Ryan nodded. “Good.” He laughed, stretching out in the chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “What the fuck does he think he’s doing, messing with those bastards?”

“He might come to you next.”

“Why? You shut him down, right?”

“Yeah, but he’s decided I don’t make the decisions. Thinks I let you do all the thinking for both of us.”

“Well, you do.”

Miguel shook his head. Sometimes Ryan just didn’t get the way things worked. Especially with the Latinos. They could have very narrow views on the world. “Not like that. Of course you make the plans, ‘cause you’re good at that shit. But he’s decided that I’m your bitch, and that talking to me won’t do any good, ‘cause you’re the man.”

“What an asshole. Well, let him come to me. I’ll tell him the same thing you did. We have a deal with the Italians. We don’t mess with their tits; they don’t mess with our pills.”

Miguel dropped down onto his back and stretched. “That’s what I told him. He’ll figure it out, one way or another. If he’s lucky, he’ll figure it out before Pancamo has him killed.”

Ryan nodded his agreement, and Miguel sighed lazily, relaxing into the lumpy mattress. He’d almost dropped off to sleep when Ryan’s soft question jarred him awake again.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“What?”

“His thinking you’re my prag. He thinks you’re bottom boy, so you don’t have a say. Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shrugged. “I put him in his place. And when you talk to him, he’ll see we’re working together. I’m nobody’s bitch.” He grinned at Ryan, licking his lips. “Except when I wanna be.”

Ryan rubbed his cock through his pants, “Yeah? You want to be my bitch tonight, Miguel? You want me to fuck you right through that mattress?”

Miguel stretched again, smiling wickedly, and Ryan watched him hungrily. It always turned him on, knowing how much Ryan loved to look at his body. Ryan would stared at him sometimes, his eyes following every move Miguel made, and he could almost feel Ryan’s hands running over his skin. He shivered just thinking of Ryan’s hands touching him.

Ryan moved over to his bunk, sitting on the edge. Miguel hummed appreciatively when Ryan ran his hand up the inseam of Miguel’s pants, his warm palm sliding up closer and closer to his cock. He opened his legs wider, giving Ryan plenty of room to work, his cock already aching for Ryan’s touch.

“Please, Ryan. Touch me.”

Ryan’s grin was slow and sexy. “I like it when you beg.”

Miguel returned the grin in kind. “I know you do, amante.”

They both jumped when the hack’s nightstick banged on the Plexiglas, shattering the moment. Ryan pulled his hand back and waved both hands at that prick Parker, to show him he wasn’t touching Miguel any more, but the hack stayed where he was, arms crossed as he stared Ryan down, until he got up and sat in the chair again.

“Fucking hack.”

“Tonight, Ryan. We’ve got tonight,” Miguel promised him.

They’d have to wait until lights out. It was going to be a long evening.

 

* * *

 

Ryan was relieved to finally make it to the cafeteria. If he had to hear one more complaint from Howell, he swore to God he was going to strangle her. He was expecting to hear his mother’s piano when he opened the cafeteria door, so the loud Latin music that was echoing through the room was a shock. It was even more of a shock to see his mother dancing way too close to Miguel Alvarez. He was so surprised that he stopped, trying to decide if he should be jealous of Miguel, or his mother.

He had to shout to be heard over the music. “What the fuck are you doing, Ma?”

Miguel swung her around, and she came to a halt facing him. “Ryan! We’re dancing!” She held out both hands, urging him up onto the stage. “Come join us!”

“Ma. What the hell?” He jumped onto the stage and strode over to the CD player sitting on the piano.

Miguel intercepted him halfway there, grabbing one hand and swinging him around to face him.

“Dance with me, sexy.”

Ryan pulled away. “Miguel, stop it!”

“What’s wrong, querido? You’re the one who talked me into taking Suzanne’s music class. I told you I couldn’t sing. But I can dance.” He swung his hips, swaying back and forth to the music, and even as annoyed with Miguel as he was at the moment, Ryan couldn’t help but be caught up in the sensual nature of his movements.

“We made a deal, Ryan. I’m teaching him to sing, and he’s teaching me to salsa.”

He barely noticed Suzanne speaking to him, he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Miguel, who was smiling that private smile of his – the one he only shared with Ryan.

The music stopped suddenly. “Ryan?”

“Oh, sorry, Ma.” He blinked at her, trying to bring his thoughts back under control. “I was just…umm….”

She beamed at him, putting her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, dear. I understand.” She leaned closer to him, and whispered in his ear. “I think he’s hot, too.”

“Ma!” He blushed furiously. He knew she didn’t care about him and Miguel, but this was getting a little too close for comfort for him.

She laughed cheerfully, and kissed him on the cheek. “Now, did you want to talk to me or Miguel?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” He tried to focus his thoughts back on his reason for being here. “I need to talk to Miguel for a few minutes. I’ll be quick.”

Miguel winked at Suzanne as he jumped down the step to the cafeteria floor. He was in a rare mood, his eyes shining with delight. “I’ll be right back, hot mamma.”

“Oh, you.” Suzanne blushed at him and waved him away. “Go on.”

Ryan had never seen his mother blush like that. It made him smile. It was impossible for him to imagine how his father had ever managed to catch a prize like her.

“What’s up, Ryan?”

“Did you just call my mother a hot mamma?”

“She is hot.” He shrugged. “I like her, Ryan. She’s a lot of fun. When I was stage managing Macbeth for her, she used to make me laugh all the time. You’re lucky you get to see her so much.”

“Yeah? I guess I am, huh?” Miguel didn’t talk about his mother much, and his father had ended up in some prison on the other side of the state when Oz had been split up. Suzanne had come to visit Ryan regularly when they’d been at Lardner, he couldn’t remember Miguel’s mother ever even sending him a letter. He was lucky she was around.

“So what’s up?”

“Oh, right.” It was hard to get back the righteous anger he’d felt all the way here. He’d been sidetracked by seeing his mother dancing with Miguel. It took him a moment, but he hitched his pants and remembered. There it was. “I just wanted to let you know,” he whispered angrily, “I’m wearing your underwear.”

“Oh yeah?” Miguel looked confused at Ryan’s confession. “You know that would be much sexier to hear if you didn’t sound so pissed off.”

“I’m not trying to sound sexy, Alvarez. I’m wearing your underwear because it’s your turn to do laundry, and I have no clean underwear.”

Miguel shook his head. “No it’s not. I did the laundry last week.”

“No, I did it last week. I know I did, because you bitched at me for washing my green shirt with your white shirt, remember?” Ryan crossed his arms and stared at Miguel, daring him to contradict him.

“No, that was…shit. That was last week?”

“Last week. Now I have no underwear.”

Miguel took another step closer and murmured in his ear. “That’s okay, baby. I like the idea of you in my underwear.”

“Yeah?” Ryan found it hard to keep his anger with that image running through his mind. He laughed. “It would be better if you were wearing them at the time.”

“Oh, nice image to send me back to your mamma with.”

“Hey, you leave my mamma out of this.”

“Let’s go, O’Reily.” Howell’s grating voice pierced the air, spoiling their flirty moment. “You said you needed to talk to your mother, not your girlfriend.”

“Fuck you, Howell.” Ryan had had about enough of her attitude.

She laughed raucously. “Maybe later.”

“¡Pinche zorra!”

Ryan didn’t have to know what that one meant, he could tell by the look on Miguel’s face he was furious. That temper of his was going to get him into trouble some day.

“What did you say, asshole?” Howell pulled out her nightstick, slapping the stick into her palm, and Ryan grabbed Miguel’s arm, dragging him away from her.

“Miguel, don’t.”

He poked Ryan in the chest, eyes flashing with anger. “I’m warning you. You ever touch her again, and I’ll cut your dick off. Is that clear?”

“Hey! Miguel, I don’t want her, you know that.” He fought the smile that knowing how jealous Miguel was gave him. Grinning like a fool wouldn’t help the situation any.

“I’ll cut her fucking tits off, too.” His low voice sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine. He had to be wired wrong, or something, because Miguel’s threatening to cut Howell up was turning Ryan on something fierce.

“Hey, you can do whatever you want to her. I don’t give a shit.” He leaned in close. “But I have to warn you, you’ll have to search pretty damn hard to find them.”

“¿Qué?” Miguel was hot even when he was clueless.

“Her tits. They’re pretty much non-existent, man.”

“Yeah?” Miguel gave her a glance over Ryan’s shoulder, checking her out. That was more like it. He was calming down, so Ryan risked a grin.

“Not even a handful.” Miguel laughed, and Ryan relaxed. “Don’t worry. Even if she had tits out to here, I would never touch her again. You know that. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know it.” He frowned. “But she’s so goddamn arrogant about it. I can’t believe you ever fucked her.”

“I know. Believe me, it turned out to be much more of a chore than I ever imagined. But don’t let her get to you, okay? It makes her day when she pushes our buttons.”

“Yeah, alright. I know. I know.”

“C’mon, O’Reily, I don’t have all day. You can fuck Alvarez all you want in your pod tonight. Let’s go!”

Ryan winked at Miguel as he turned and walked back to her. “Jesus, Howell, you talk to your mamma with that mouth?”

“My momma is none of your concern.”

“See you later, man.” Miguel called after him. “I’ll do the laundry. Promise.”

Howell turned back to Miguel. “Wow. When you whisper sweet nothings, Alvarez, you really go for the heart, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Howell.”

Ryan turned back to him as they left, and watched Miguel hop back onto the stage.

He grinned at the sight of Miguel swinging his mother around in a circle.

“Now, where were we, hot mamma?”

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Miguel wondered if it would be better if he just crawled under a rock and never came out again. As long as the rock was far enough away from Ryan O’Reily that he never had to hear the words ‘no credit’ again, he’d be willing to start crawling right now.

“I thought we had an agreement. No one gets credit. Pay as you go does not mean pay when you’ve got the money, later in the week, or next month. It means if you don’t have the money, you don’t get the merchandise!”

Miguel rolled his eyes as Ryan paced back and forth. They’d been over and over this ever since lock up, and Miguel would give anything if he could get the hell away from Ryan for just a few minutes. If Ryan paced back in Miguel’s direction one more time, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from punching him in the face.

“Yeah, I know, Ryan, but…”

“No but. There is no but. If they can’t pay, they don’t fly. We are not running a charity.”

“What the fuck, man? It was only one little pill!” Try as he might, Miguel could not understand Ryan’s insistence on this. They had money. They were in the black, but Ryan was single-minded on this issue, and nothing Miguel said could sway him.

“That’s not the point! The point is that if we don’t stick to our guns, we’ll end up with everyone owing us money, and we won’t have a fucking penny to our names. No credit means no credit, Alvarez. No credit!” Ryan was in his face, now, angry and red faced. But Miguel wasn’t going to back down to him on this. He was in the right, here, and he knew it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He shoved Ryan away from him, hard enough to make him stumble backwards, falling against the pod wall. “It’s not like he’s some stranger or something. This is Felipe, and we both know that he’ll be getting the money on Friday. He always gets his money on Friday, and as soon as he gets it, he’ll pay us!”

McManus had set up all the old-timers when they first came back to Oz, pairing them with a new kid, a mentoring program that actually seemed to be working a hell of a lot better than the sponsor program he’d had going when they’d first gotten to Oz. Miguel had been mentoring Felipe for months, now. He knew him, and Ryan did too. He was trustworthy, and if Ryan couldn’t see that, it meant he just didn’t want to.

Ryan sighed, dropping down into the chair like all his strings has been cut. “You’re too fucking soft hearted, man. Last week it was Rawlings, before that it was Green, and before that….”

Miguel cut him off. “And they all paid us, didn’t they?”

Ryan stared at the floor in stony silence, his jaw working as if he were grinding his teeth.

“Didn’t they?”

“That’s not the point.”

“¡Puta madre!” Miguel shouted, his frustration finally boiling over. “I only extend credit to a select few and even then, not that often. People I know personally and trust. And they’ve all paid us back, when they said they would. I’m not stupid, O’Reily! I know who we can trust, and who we can’t.”

“But if we don’t give anything to anyone, then we don’t have to worry about that, will we? We just set a rule, and that’s how it goes. Period. No cash, no drugs. Nada. Nothing. Nilch. Are you getting this?”

“I heard you. But I don’t care. It’s a stupid rule, and I refuse to follow it. I didn’t agree to it in the first place, you just decided it on your own, and I will not work with you if you won’t listen to my opinions.”

“It’s not like I don’t listen to you, Miguel. You know I do.”

He threw his hands into the air, pacing away from Ryan. “Only when it suits you.”

“We both decided I’m the brains of this operation. Right?”

Miguel turned back to him, arms crossed over his chest defensively. “I’m not going to be that heartless.”

“That’s because you’re the heart of our partnership, and I know that. But you have to trust me to know what’s best for us when it comes to money.”

“If I’m the heart, then you need to trust me, too.”

“I do. When it comes to matters of the heart.”

Miguel crouched down in front of Ryan, looking up into his eyes. “And this is one of them, man. I trust Felipe, and maybe you don’t, but you’ve got to trust me when I say this is okay. Trust me.”

“Miguel.”

“Trust me. Tell me you trust me.”

“I do. You know I do.”

“Good.”

“But...”

“No, no buts.” He threw that line back at Ryan, and he could see that Ryan got what he’d done. “You trust me or you don’t.”

“I do trust you.”

Miguel smiled at him. “There, see? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Shut up, Miguel.” Ryan shook his finger in Miguel’s face. “If this backfires on me, you know I’m gonna be all kinds of righteous when I remind you how much I trusted you.”

Miguel grabbed his finger and held on. “It won’t backfire, man. You’ll see.”

Ryan rolled his eyes dramatically. “I must be out of my fucking mind.”

* * *

Ryan liked spending time in the gym with Miguel. He knew what Miguel saw in pounding the heavy bag, that zone he got into when it was just his fists and the bag, and the rhythm between the two. But unless he really needed some mindless violence, Ryan would just as soon watch Miguel. Sweat rolling down his chest, hard muscles bunching and flexing, the determination in Miguel’s eyes. He could get just as lost watching Miguel as Miguel did in the bag.

But the gym was no place to let down your guard. Not in Oz, anyway. So he kept his eyes open, while Miguel got into the zone. He needed to focus and keep his eyes off Miguel’s body. That was harder to do now that they’d taken away the keys, and made all the storage and cleaning rooms key card locked. It had proved practically impossible to break into a storage room since they’d come back to Oz. Even the fucking janitors had key fucking cards. And they were so easily managed – as soon as one disappeared, it was taken off the computer grid, and it no longer worked anywhere.

At Lardner, Ryan and Miguel had kept their relationship completely secret. No one had known their partnership was anything but business, and it made keeping respect a hell of a lot easier. They didn’t have that choice anymore. If they wanted to keep the personal part, well, the sex anyway, they had to be open about the fact that they were fucking, and that had brought up a hell of a lot more complications.

It was somewhat easier considering the fact that everyone was faced with the same complication. But in the long run it didn’t matter. They’d made the choice to stop hiding, and the consequences were right there, staring Ryan in the face. The group of six bikers that had been lifting weights when Ryan and Miguel had come in was currently winding up, shrugging on their shirts, wiping themselves down and rough housing as they walked past the heavy bag.

They moaned at Ryan and made kissing noises, grabbing their crotches and joking with each other about who fucked who. Ryan knew there were too many of them to fight, so he tried to ignore them. He could see three or four hacks headed their direction, including Murphy, who’d brought the two of them to the gym in the first place. Nothing was likely to happen with this many heavy hitters on their asses. He got Miguel’s attention anyway, in case they started something before the hacks could stop them.

One of the bastards, a big guy with tattoos on his bald head smacked Ryan on the ass then grabbed his own cock through his sweats.

“Bend over baby, let me drive you home.” They all laughed, thinking they were hot stuff.

Ryan saw red. “Fucking asshole.”

Miguel pulled him back, just as the hacks got there. Murphy slammed the guy who’d started it up against the wall.

“You looking for The Hole, Pliny? We got a restraint chair with your name on it if I see you try anything like that ever again.” He pulled Pliny back about a foot, then slammed him back into the wall and Pliny grunted in pain as he hit the cinderblock. “Is that clear enough for you?”

Miguel pulled on Ryan’s arm, moving him out of the area. “C’mon, man. It doesn’t matter. Let’s lift some weights.”

Ryan pulled his arm away, his face still burning. “How can you say it doesn’t matter? Did you hear them?” He watched as Murphy let Pliny go, and he stared hard, memorizing the bastard’s face.

“I heard them.” Miguel walked over to a free bench and started unwinding the tape from his hands. “You’re upset because he thinks you’re the prag.”

“What? No. That’s not it. It’s just that we need to keep respect, man. If we don’t have respect, we’re dead, and you know it.”

“He’s new.” Miguel shrugged. “Once he’s been here a while, he’ll figure it out. Or he’ll die. I know you. It may already be too late for him. But his buddies will know. Nobody messes with you, man. Everybody figures that out sooner or later.”

Miguel started setting up the bench, taking a few weights off the bar. The last ones there had been those muscle-bound bikers, and neither Miguel nor Ryan could lift that kind of weight.

“You’re so casual about it. How can you not care what they think?”

Miguel looked up at Ryan curiously. “What are you so upset about? It’s not like anyone who’s really in the know thinks you’re on bottom anyway. How long have we been back, Ryan? I haven’t fucked you once since we got back to Oz.”

He went back to the weights, and Ryan felt a twist of guilt in his stomach. He should have known this was coming. He’d put Miguel off so many different times, with so many reasons. Miguel wasn’t fooled, though. He knew Ryan was afraid. Afraid of those assholes and their perceptions, their narrow minds and their condemning, dismissive eyes. Might as well be Seamus’ eyes. He’d learned that narrow-minded bigotry at his father’s knee, after all. It was hard to fight that kind of hatred.

“You have your fists, man. You can move fast and you can fight, you can make sure they don’t disrespect you. Me…”

“You just do it a different way, Ryan, that’s all. We both know that biker is going to regret what he just did, if he lives that long. You just do it behind the scenes. That’s the only difference.”

“But they might not even realize it’s me that did it. If they don’t get the connection, I’m left looking like I can’t defend myself. That’s the problem.”

“But you won’t let me defend you.”

“That’s even worse, Miguel, and you know it.”

“Yeah, then they think you’re letting me fuck you for protection. I know.” He sat down on the bench and stared up at Ryan. “We can’t win, Ryan. Not against that bunch, not against any of them. They’re gonna think what they want. All we can do is show them that we’re not affected by their bullshit.”

“It’s not that easy. You know that.”

“You and me, we’re survivors, man. We lived through Oz once already. We’ve lived through two riots, gas explosions and chemical warfare, stabbings and shootings and more bullshit than they’ll ever understand. Maybe they don’t realize it yet, but we’re the ones they should be afraid of. They’ll get it man, they’ll figure it out. You’ll see.”

Ryan sat down next to him, their thighs touching, just that slight concession giving Ryan more comfort than something so simple probably should. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his head and shoulders sag. “I hate starting over, Miguel. The constant battle. I want to rest for a while, you know?”

“But you can’t, man. Not until we’re locked into our pod tonight. We can’t rest, or we’re dead.”

“I know. I know.”

Miguel reached down and briefly squeezed Ryan’s thigh, as if he knew the comfort it gave Ryan. He stood up briskly, back to business.

“So give me twenty reps. I’ll spot you.”

Ryan laughed, relieved that the conversation was over. Baring your soul was more difficult than he’d ever thought. “Slave driver.”

“It’s good for you. C’mon.”

Ryan lay back on the bench, taking a deep breath and shoving all that crap into a box at the back of his mind, where he could deal with it later. He grabbed the bar and started lifting.

“That’s it, O’Reily. One, two, three, four…”

 

* * *

 

Miguel was bored. He flipped over another card, shifting in his ugly blue chair, trying to decide if he’d be more comfortable playing solitaire on his bunk. The problem with that was that he couldn’t watch Ryan from his bunk, and he liked watching Ryan. It was one of his favorite pastimes, even if he was just sitting on the top bunk, reading his National Geographic.

He’d shown the new issue to Miguel when Suzanne first brought it to him, running his fingertips over the pristine, glossy cover. Ryan was lucky Suzanne brought him the new copy every month, instead of giving him a subscription. The magazine would be a smeared, tattered mess before he ever saw it if it went through the mail room.

Ryan closed the magazine, studying the cover again. He’d been fascinated by the drawing there, a reconstruction of the famous King Tut’s face. His eyes had lit up as he’d told Miguel all about the boy king. Miguel had laughed at the drawing; the eyeliner was a bit much in his opinion. It had reminded him of Torquemada. Christ, he was glad that asshole was dead and buried. Miguel was much better off with Ryan. Despite everything he’d been through, he had Ryan. Miguel thought that made him a lucky man.

“I talked to Fiona today.” Ryan spoke casually, but something in his tone alerted Miguel.

“Poor you.”

Miguel had never liked Fiona. Her constant chatter and vicious gossip had gotten on his nerves. Unfortunately, he’d never been able to get too far away from her while Torquemada was alive. She’d taken his death rather personally, and the fact that Miguel had lived through the fight that had deprived her of her hero had never sat well. She blamed Miguel, and Miguel knew better than to mess with a queen in a tizzy, so he kept his distance.

Ryan shrugged. “She gives good info. She’s reliable.”

Miguel laughed bitterly. “As long as she’s got no stake in it, she is. But don’t turn your back on her; she’ll stab you as soon as look at you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What did she have to say? Anything important? Anything we should know?”

“Not much. Sister Pete is going away for a month to some retreat, and we’ll have a replacement from the state. Some guy in Unit B is planning to sue the prison for negligence over some shit that happened in The Hole the last time he was there.”

Miguel yawned. “A boring week.”

“She did say one thing I found interesting.”

“Yeah?”

“She said you were getting real chummy with that kid you’re mentoring. Felipe.”

“Chummy?” He laughed. “Is that the word she used? Chummy?”

“Yeah, she said you two were touching a hell of a lot for just being friends.” For all Ryan’s relaxed attitude, there was something dark in his eyes that made Miguel’s stomach twist into knots.

“¡Maldito cabrón de mierda!” Miguel was out of his chair, his cards all over the floor as he shouted. “¡Puta madre!” He slapped on the bars of the bunk with his palms, the sharp sting merely pushing his anger higher. “And you believed her? What did she say about you and that little prick Cohen?”

Ryan frowned down at him. “What’s wrong with Cohen?”

“Nothing. And there’s nothing wrong with Felipe, either. He’s just a kid, man. Fiona is trying to stir up trouble. I can’t believe you listened to her in the first place. You know she’s never gotten over Torquemada’s death. She’s lost all her status, and she’s blaming it on me. I even told you she’d try something like this.”

“I know you did.” Ryan said defensively. He jumped down from his bunk, stopping Miguel in mid-stride. “And I believe you.” Miguel’s rant died in his throat.

“You do?”

“I do. I know you wouldn’t do anything stupid like that.” Miguel was confused. If he didn’t believe it, why did he even bring it up? “That doesn’t mean that Felipe might not try something.”

“So? If he does, he’ll find out the hard way that I don’t fuck around. You know that, don’t you?” Ryan looked down at his hands and shrugged, and Miguel fought back his anger. “You do know that, don’t you Ryan?”

“I know.” He didn’t sound very convinced. Miguel huffed out his breath in disgust, and Ryan looked up at him, his eyes troubled. “I do know it. It’s just….”

Ryan’s voice died off, and suddenly it hit Miguel exactly what was going on and all his anger drained out of him in a rush, leaving him almost giddy with relief.

“You’re fucking jealous.”

“I am not jealous.” He sounded like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You are. You’re jealous over a kid like Felipe. That’s funny, man.”

“I am not jealous.” Ryan turned his back on Miguel. Miguel didn’t believe him for an instant.

“Uh huh.”

“Just…keep an eye on him, okay? In case he tries something.”

“Why? ‘Cause you don’t want him to get his feelings hurt?”

Ryan leaned up against the wall, faking a casual pose. “Cause I don’t want to have to kill him, alright? “

Miguel couldn’t help but grin. He sauntered over to Ryan, amazed at how good he felt all the sudden. Ryan could do that to him. He could be ready to kill the man, and two seconds later, he was ready to fall to his knees and suck the bastard’s cock. That was what got them into this situation in the first place. Ryan drove him crazy.

“Oh, big mister macho.”

“Shut up.” Ryan was fighting a grin, Miguel could see it in his eyes.

Miguel stopped a step away from Ryan, close enough to be intimate, but far enough away to avoid the hacks. Smiling, he spoke softly, for Ryan’s ears only.

“Te amo.”

Ryan grinned back at him, as if amazed that Miguel was willing to tell Ryan he loved him. Then he blushed, and looked at the floor awkwardly.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Miguel pushed for the words, even though he knew Ryan found it uncomfortable to admit, even in private.

“You know.”

Miguel laughed shaking his head. “You have such a stick up your ass, O’Reily.”

“I do not.”

Miguel ignored him. “But don’t worry, amante. I’ll take it out tonight, before I fuck you.”

“Very funny.”

“Oh, you won’t be laughing tonight.”

“You think so?”

He leaned closer, so he was whispering in Ryan’s ear. “Tonight I’m gonna stretch you out so nice, and work you up until you’re begging me to fuck you.” Miguel smiled wickedly when he heard Ryan gasp. He knew Ryan loved to have his ass played with, and as long as there were no witnesses, he’d never been shy about admitting how much he loved having Miguel’s cock up his ass.

He closed the distance between them, rubbing sensuously against Ryan’s body, listening carefully to the moans and gasps Ryan couldn’t control. “I’m gonna take such good care of you tonight, Ryan. I’m gonna make you scream, baby. You’re gonna scream for me, and you’re gonna come so hard you won’t even remember your name. All you have to do is surrender to me. Let me love you.”

Miguel couldn’t control himself any longer. He needed to be kissing Ryan. Miguel took his mouth, and Ryan wrapped his arms around Miguel, pulling their bodies even closer together, driving them higher and higher – so high they barely noticed the rap of a night stick on the Plexiglass. The second time, the raps were harder and louder, and they pulled away from each other, surprised that they let it get that far with the lights on. Ryan was flushed and panting, and his hard cock poked out, tenting the fabric of his pants. Miguel licked his lips hungrily.

“You look so good, Ryan. I’m not sure I can wait until tonight.”

One more loud rap, and they separated, backing away from each other quickly, before the hack could do anything else. Murphy pushed the door open and poked his head in their pod. “Keep it in your pants until lights out, gentlemen.”

Ryan seemed to have recovered. He saluted Murphy with one finger. “Sir, yes sir! Anything you say, sir!”

Miguel laughed, and Murphy shook his head, mumbling about smartass punks as the door closed behind him.

“I’m gonna go watch some TV, okay, querido? Otherwise, we’re gonna end up in the hole, and neither of us is gonna come tonight.”

“Yeah.” Ryan cleared his throat and adjusted his package. “That’s… That’s a good idea.”

 

* * *

 

Ryan glanced over at Miguel, then flicked his eyes back down to his magazine when Miguel noticed he was being watched. He knew he was making Miguel nervous, but fuck it, he was pretty fucking nervous here, himself. It may not have seemed like that big a deal to Miguel, but to Ryan, this was huge. He’d been thinking about it since before dinner, when Miguel has kissed him and whispered in his ear all the nasty, dirty things he wanted to do to Ryan, and Ryan had practically creamed his jeans he’d been so turned on.

Miguel always turned him on, but today he’d gone beyond anything he’d done in the past. Ryan had always known that Miguel could sweet talk a nun out of her panties, but man – Ryan thought that even Seamus himself would have spread his legs for Miguel this afternoon. Which was a pretty disgusting image, and he now needed an entire bucket of bleach for his brain. But he’d hit the nail on the head, hadn’t he? Seamus was the thing standing between Ryan and Miguel, and Ryan had to decide if he was willing to let the bigotry and hatred that was the very embodiment of Seamus O’Reily stop Ryan from getting what he wanted.

Because he did want it. He wanted it all. He wanted Miguel to know that there was nothing he was ashamed of sharing with him. He wanted to be able to admit to himself, if to nobody else, that he loved getting fucked and that nothing any of the blind fools out there had to say about that mattered in the least. He wanted so many things, but most of all, right now, he wanted the safety and security of Miguel’s arms around him, and he wanted to be able to relax, if only for the night, and let Miguel take care of him for a little while.

He’d had a lot of time to think, tonight. And he’d realized that was at the root of it all. Ryan always took care of everyone else, and there had been far too few who wanted to take care of Ryan. There were times, when he got so weary, and all he wanted in the world was someone who could take over, and hold him while he regained his strength. Gloria had done that for him when he was at his weakest, and he’d loved her for it, and now Miguel wanted to do the same. All Ryan had to do was let him in and he could relax. He could be free.

He didn’t want to give up the fight; he’d never give up – he intended to fight until the day he died. All he wanted was a respite. A chance to lay his burdens down and rest before he picked them back up again. It didn’t seem like that much to ask. Miguel wanted to be the one to do that for him. All Ryan had to do was turn his back on Seamus, and say yes to Miguel’s offer. When he looked at it that way, he realized there was no debate. The only choice was Miguel.

The guard’s shout of “Lights out!” surprised him. He’d had no idea he’d spent the last five hours brooding. Jesus. No wonder Miguel was looking at him so uncertainly. He jumped down to the floor, crossing to the can in the dim half-light to take a piss before he brushed his teeth and splashed some water on his face. He dried off and hung his towel on his hook, turning to see Miguel watching him warily from the chair opposite the bunks.

Ryan leaned against the bunk, staring solemnly at Miguel, who seemed frozen to his chair. When it was clear Miguel wasn’t going to move until prodded, Ryan asked “Well?”

“Well what?” Miguel’s question was guarded and maybe a bit belligerent. He supposed he deserved that, after his behavior tonight, but he’d needed to think things through. He was past thinking now, though, it was time for some action.

“You made me a promise, today.”

Miguel’s brow creased in a frown as he thought about that.

“Something about making me scream?” Ryan reminded him. “I don’t hear any screaming, Miguel. Don’t tell me you’re not good for your promises. I’d be very disappointed.”

Miguel’s slow smile was like the sun coming out in the middle of the night. He stood up, crossed over to Ryan, pressed their bodies against each other and whispered in his ear. “Don’t you worry, baby. You’ll be screaming before the night is over.” He traced the tip of Ryan’s ear with his tongue, and Ryan shivered when he nipped the lobe before following the line of Ryan’s jaw with sucking kisses and teasing bites that had Ryan tilting his head to give Miguel more room to explore. Their kiss made Ryan’s knees weak, and he grabbed onto Miguel’s shoulders as his capable hands roamed Ryan’s body, pinching his nipples, squeezing his ass, running his fingernails up Ryan’s sides, sharp lines of fire that made him moan and his cock throb in his pants.

Speaking of which, they had way too much clothing on - Ryan pulled free of Miguel’s hands, determined to rid them both of their clothes, but Miguel stepped back, grabbing Ryan’s hands and trapping them against the mattress of the upper bunk.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Miguel shook his head. “Who’s running the show, tonight?”

Ryan swallowed heavily. Oh, yeah. He was handing over the reins to Miguel tonight, and his stomach flipped over when he thought about it. In a good way, though. He was looking forward to this, despite the size of the cliff he felt he was about to step off.

“Miguel…”

“Trust me.”

Ryan looked straight into Miguel’s eyes and answered truthfully, hoping his sincerity was as easy to see as it felt.

“I trust you with my life.”

Miguel took a deep breath, and Ryan could tell he was proud of those words, and the trust Ryan was handing him. He smiled, sexy and wicked, and Ryan shivered at the thought of what that smile promised.

“Close your eyes, querido. Turn it all over to me.” Ryan did as he was told, and surrendered everything to Miguel.

 

Ryan arched his back, moaning softly as Miguel sucked on the skin on the inside of Ryan’s thigh, up near the juncture where his thigh met his body. He clutched at the bar above his head, holding tightly to the metal, pulling on the belt that held his arms captive. He tested the leather time and again, not to find a weakness in his bonds, but to remind him they were there. When Miguel had asked him if Ryan trusted him, he obviously intended to test that conviction. But that was okay, Ryan felt freer with that belt tied around his wrists than he ever remembered being before. With his hands secured to the bunk, Ryan was free to fly.

He felt like he was being drowned in sensation, Miguel’s sure hands marking his body, claiming Ryan for himself. He was soaring, pleasure buzzing and sparking on his skin, making him hyper-aware of every touch of Miguel’s hands, his lips, even the brush of Miguel’s breath across his skin. He felt a cool, wet finger slide between his ass cheeks and he almost cried with relief. Finally, after what felt like hours of sensual torture, Miguel was finally going to let him come. He’d better, anyway. If he fucked Ryan but didn’t let him come, he’d find a way to make Miguel regret it.

He didn’t tell Miguel that, though. In the last half hour or so Ryan had learned the hard way that you didn’t challenge the man holding the reins when your cock was tied to the other end. Miguel bit Ryan’s stomach near his navel, making Ryan jump, and he almost missed the moment Miguel’s fingers slid inside him. God, that felt so good.

The ghost of Seamus reared his ugly head like it usually did about now – telling Ryan what a disappointment it was to have a fag for a son, but Ryan didn’t listen to him this time. He listened to Miguel instead; the steady stream of loving words he poured over Ryan washed away the taint of Seamus’ disapproval, and Ryan reveled in the pride he felt when he realized he was worthy of Miguel’s trust.

Ryan held tight to the realization that there was only one person he needed to be worthy of, and that person loved him without reservation. Seamus slipped away from him then, and Ryan was left with an overwhelming sense of relief. It was as if he was awakening after a long, terrible nightmare, and finding himself safe in his lover’s arms. He laughed out loud, and Miguel, who was busy torturing his nipples, glanced up at him curiously, fingers stilling inside him.

“Don’t stop! Please!”

Miguel smiled at him wickedly, pulling his fingers out of Ryan’s ass. “I think you’ve had enough of that.”

“What? No!” He didn’t care how desperate he sounded; he wanted those fingers back inside him.

Miguel grabbed a condom off the floor, ripping the packaging open with his teeth before rolling it on and slicking it with the lube on his fingers.

“I had plans for more torture, but that’s gonna have to wait for next time, ‘cause I need to be inside you now.”

Ryan sighed with relief. “Thank Christ. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on, man.”

It was Miguel’s turn to laugh as he positioned himself between Ryan’s legs. “Don’t worry, querido. I’ve got you, now. I’ll take care of you.”

Ryan looked in his eyes. “I know you will, Miguel. I trust you.” Then Miguel was inside him, and his head fell back to the pillow as he moaned out his pleasure. “Oh, yeah. That’s it, Miguel. So good.”

It was impossible to think after that: hard flesh pounding into hard flesh, warm skin and white knuckles, bodies straining together and harsh, panting breaths. Ryan wrapped his legs around Miguel’s waist, holding on as tightly as he could, his hard cock straining between them, slick with sweat and pre-come. Miguel’s ragged breath made it hard to hear the words he whispered in Ryan’s ear, but he didn’t need to hear them, anyway, he knew them all by heart.

He felt himself getting closer, and he recognized the signs that Miguel was doing the same, so he spoke, or tried to anyway, then cleared his throat and tried again.

“Miguel. Miguel, look at me.”

Miguel raised his head, perspiration from his forehead dripping onto Ryan’s cheek. He started to slow down his hips, and Ryan raised his own, urging him on.

“No, don’t stop.”

“I think it’s too late for that, anyway,” Miguel gasped. He nudged Ryan’s cheek with his nose and lips. “What? What do you need, baby?”

“I just need to tell you --” He struggled to get the words out; Miguel’s steady pounding into his ass was far too much of a distraction. But he needed to say this. It was important.

Miguel pulled back enough to look into his eyes, and Ryan smiled at him and found the words.

“Te amo, Miguel.”

Miguel smiled and dove for his mouth. The kiss was sloppy and breathy, their tongues as slippery as their skin, but it was real and passionate and probably the best kiss Ryan had ever had.

There were no more words, then, but they didn’t need them anyway. And when Miguel slid his hand between their bodies and squeezed Ryan’s cock, that was all it took to send Ryan soaring – his orgasm rushing through him like wildfire, consuming him whole.

When Ryan recovered enough to notice such things, he realized he hadn’t even heard Miguel come, but from the dead weight on his chest, and Miguel’s heavy, panting breaths blowing cool air across his bare shoulder, he was pretty sure he had. His legs flopped loosely to the bed, and he sighed, relaxing into the mattress. His only complaint was that his shoulders and wrists ached, and he tugged on the belt, which was just a belt again, and no longer a tether that kept him from floating away.

Miguel raised his head, smirking at him. “Need some help, there?” His voice was gravely and sexy, even now.

“Get me out of this thing.”

Miguel’s chuckle made him want to smile, but he fought it, although he had a feeling Miguel knew what he was doing.

“Pushy bottom.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, baby.” Miguel fumbled with the belt as he spoke. “I’m all fucked out.”

The belt fell loose, dropping with a clatter to the tile floor. Ryan stretched his arms out, then wrapped them tightly around Miguel’s shoulders, pulling him back down onto his chest.

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.” He could feel Miguel’s lips move against his skin as he smiled.

Ryan knew he’d have to get up sooner or later, and climb back onto his own bunk before the hacks got ugly. But for now he was staying here, wrapped in Miguel’s arms. There was no place he’d rather be.

 


End file.
